"Jack Williamson - The Legion of Time" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williamson Jack)

his vague expectancy of unknown perils lent a certain spice to existence.
But life went on, after the funeral preached for Barry's unrecovered body, as if Lethonee had never come. Lao Meng
Shan turned to China, eager to put his new science at her service. Wil McLan was off to Europe, on a fellowship in
theoretical physics.

And Lanning presently embarked for Nicaragua, where American marines were straightening out the Sacasa-Chamorro
fracas, on his first foreign press assignment. Barry's uncle had offered him an advertising job. But a burning unrest
filled him, born of the conflicts within him, of doubt and hope, wonder and grief, dread and bitter longing. He saw no
way ahead, save to break old ties, to forget.

It was on the little fruit steamer, bound for Corinto, that he first saw—Sorainya! And knew, indeed, that he had not
dreamed, that he would never forget, nor ever

16 The Legion of Time

escape the strange web of destiny flung across space and time to snare him.

Velvet night had fallen on the tropical Pacific. The watch had just changed and now the decks were deserted. Lanning,
the only passenger, was leaning on the foredeck rail, watching the milky phosphorescence that winged endlessly from
the prow.

But his mind saw, instead, Lethonee's jewel of time, and her slim haunting form behind it. And it startled him strangely
when a ringing golden voice, in pealing mockery of her own, called:

"Denny Lanning!"

His heart leaped and paused. He looked up eagerly, and hope gave way to awed wonderment. For, flying beside the
rail, was a long golden shell, shaped like an immense shallow platter. Silken cushions made a couch of it, and lying
amid them was a woman.

Sorainya—woman of war!

Lethonee's warning came back. For it was a warrior queen hi the shell, clad in a gleaming crimson tunic of woven mail
that swelled with her womanly curves. A long thin sword, in a jeweled sheath, lay beside her. She had put aside a
black-plumed, crimson helmet, and thick masses of golden hair streamed down across her strong bare arms.

The white tapered fingers, scarlet-nailed, touched some control on the low rim of her strange craft, and it floated nearer
the rail. Upraised on the pillows and one smooth elbow, the woman looked up at Lanning, smiling. Her eyes were long
and brilliantly greenish. Across the white beauty of her face, her mocking lips were a long scarlet wound, voluptuous,
and malicious.

Flower of evil—Lethonee's words again. Lanning stood gripping the rail, and a trembling weakness shook him. As if hi
a dream, swift, unbidden desire overcame his incredulity. He strove desperately to be its master.

"You are Sorainya?" He held his tone grave and low. "I had warning to expect you."

She sat up suddenly amid the cushions, as if a whip had nicked her. The green eyes narrowed, and her body was tense
and splendid in the gleaming .mail. Her red mouth became a thin line of scorn.

The Corridor of Time 17